Spike the puppy

I must confess, I don't actually remember when Spike joined our family. I know till then we had only Spotty, a sort of Jack Russell and terrier mixture, white with some black patches, a tall long thin body and a very long tail that used to thump hard on the parquet floors whenever he saw us. Then we got Spike, and soon after, Sheba, as his mate. We had never had bulldogs before and they were a revelation. They snorted, drooled, farted and snored loudly. They were large, lumpy, bumpy, rolly, flabby creatures with pooled pleading eyes and flat squashed noses and it was love at first sight. What I will never forget about them was Ma's absolutley undying, unbending adoration of these new arrivals. I had never before seen her so warm and tender, her absorbed slavish behaviour threw me and I often wished she felt like me the way she felt about them. Her love for bulldogs has been passed down to me as I adore them too, and would get one tomorrow if I could.

Pain- some gain

1.) The piano lessons:

PAIN: were not what I wanted, but then which little girl wants to learn how to play the piano.

GAIN: far from being a concert pianist, I can still read music and have adequate skill in order to music to 5 year olds (which is great fun).

2.) The wooden ruler with a steel edge:

Pain: was what some teachers used to discipline us with at primary school. Mr Logan often struck me on the upper arm, mainly because I was a chatterbox, which often drew blood. Of course when I got home, Ma always said, 'Serves you right, you must have done something bad!'. No parents went rushing off to their local Council or Member of Parliament in those days screaming, Get rid of this man!'

GAIN: I became a teacher and have had 39 wonderful years, giving my 'all' to thousands of children, and never once laying a hand on them, unless in kindness and love.

3.) My mother's methods of punishment :

Pain: included the plastic flyswatter, her heavy hand and the dreaded 'sjambok', which was a thin leather strip, about 3-5 feet long, curving from one thin end to a very thick handle. This was kept behind their bedroom door, and if it was only used for very severe crimes!!

GAIN: I have tried to bring up my own two sons with firmness , fairness and honesty, and of course-the main ingredient- unconditional love. I believe I have largely succeeded.

Tickey the clown

Every year we were taken to the circus, I think my parents must have enjoyed it too, despite the elephant's antics! There is no child alive who doesn't love a clown. Not only do they look funny, but they do the most ridiculous things and survive it all. Adults might not admit it, but they can't wait for the clown act. My favourite clown was Tickey, and he appeared every single year as expected. 'Tickey' was slang for the smallest denomination of money in South Africa. It was actually worth 2 and 1/2 pennies. No doubt he was called this as he was a dwarf, with the made up face and a sense of humour like no other. He cavorted, fell over, sobbed, was punched and pushed and beaten, and still he came up smiling. Years later, I read in the local newspaper that he had just died at the ripe old age of 82, penniless and alone. What price fame?

Cinderella

I had my first experience of the theatre with Auntie Essie and fell in love at once. She took me to see' Cinderella' at the Empire Theatre in Johannesburg on a Saturday evening. We got all dressed up (which is what you did 50 years ago) and it was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to me in my first decade of life.. We had almost front row seats and I couldn't sit still waiting for the curtain to go up. I was enthralled, but when the golden coach, with four footmen and four white horses came on to the stage and this ethereal creature stepped from it in her swirly,voluminous white dress and those glass slippers, I thought I had died and gone to heaven. My mouth went dry and I gasped. I remember it so clearly, and feel my heart beating wildly thinking about that sight.When the curtain finally came down, I burst into tears and begged to come and see it again. Pure joy and pleasure to me is still a night out at the theatre.

Giggling in the bath

Auntie Essie was my mother's spinster sister. No, that's not quite right, she had been married very young, but the marriage was 'never consumated' (family gossip). She was like a much beloved maiden aunt, and I adored her. My parents sent me to her for school holidays and we used to have such fun. I went with her to work (Secretary at Anglo Vaal Company), went out with her and her best friend Madge Smith, bowling or to the cinema, and chugged around in her little black Austin. But, best of all was sharing the bath with her. She was huge, about 300 pounds, and everything wobbled when she moved. I had to squeeze into the bath with her, but how we giggled. I always remember the giggling. All the neighbours in her block of flats used to know when I was visiting, as they heard us giggling. She had a divan bed that we shared and we always fell asleep holdng hands. I wished that she was my mother! She died when I as 16 and left me feeling utterly bereft. Now, 44 years later, I love her still and think of those giggly nights in the bath.

My 'walkie - talkie' doll

My first doll with moving parts. She was solid and firm and chunky and as tall as me. I was about 8 and it was love at first sight. She was dressed in something blue and frilly, had blonde synthetic hair which shone in the sunlight and a large blue ribbon, In those days, you couldn't dress these dolls, or comb their hair, but who cared? She had arms that could move up and down stiffly- when made to do so, and legs that would walk a step at a time when made to do so. I was in heaven, pure doll's heaven. I took her on to the 'stoep', held her one hand and proceeded to make her walk along with me just as a best friend would. Suddenly, without warning, she toppled over and crashed down the two concrete steps. There she lay, on her side, with her head smashed in and lying in two bits. Her beautiful blonde har was stained by the black' stoep' polish that was applied every day to make it's surface gleam, and her face was just not her face any longer. I howled for ages till Dad picked up all the bits, put me in the car and took me and her off to the 'doll's hospital'. This was an elderly Afrikaans 'oom' who used to mend kid's toys, for a cheap fee. She stayed the night, and I didn't sleep a wink. When we went back to fetch her the next day, she had a huge glued 'crack' from the back of her head right over to the chin in the front, her hair was matted and grimey and her dress was creased and filthy. I was devastated. I can remember it as I write this. She was not the same doll I had been given for my birthday just the day before, and I didn't even like her anymore, god help me, let alone love her. My dreams were shattered along with her head.

Pram or rubbish dump?

As I've already mentioned, I loved that pram. It was actually blue and seemed larger than life. It was roomy and warm and dark. No, I didn't actually get in it, but I would've if I could've. Not only did it house my dolls, but it also had my whole life in there too. Scraps of paper, incomplete homework assignments, dirty clothes, as well as my 'plate' which was supposed to be in my mouth helping somehow to correct my crooked teeth. Every now and then, actually more regularly than that, specially if something was missing, like a school shoe, Ma used to come storming in and fling everything out on to the parquet floor and yell, 'Now clean it up, how many times have I told you to keep this clean?. There was no answer to that question. It was my pram and as such it shoud have been left alone, my personal property, mine and mine alone. After tidying it all neatly, I don't think it took half an hour before it was being comfortably refilled once more, Aaaah, peace and my pram.

Ballet protege

Another great scheme they cooked up was to send me to ballet classes. I started very young, probably round 5 or 6. It was the sort of thing one did to further their child's educational experiences. Being fat and round, I was not comfortable squeezing into those little pink shoes and standing in a line being ordered: first position, second position, arabesque, plie...... and on and on. Why the hell couldn't this emaciated scarecrow of a woman puffing away on her cigarette within the long sleek black holder just speak English? It was torture. Then came the exams, both practical and theoretical. I managed to pass them all, but no 'highly recommended' for me. Then there were the regular performances for the parents. I was always the fat girl in the middle, struggling to keep up. I fell in love with Margot Fonteyn and Nureyev, and swore I would grow up to be like them one day. Dream on, little fat girl! I still love the ballet, and my all time favourite is 'Swan Lake'. I ache every time I see it, with vivid memories of those years.

Boswell Wilkie Circus

Every year we went to the circus. I absolutely loved the circus. In fact when we knew they were arriving, we usually crowded round the day before it started, watching them set up camp. The big top, the caravans parked at the back, the smell of the animals,the sparkly costumes, the sawdust and popcorn. I loved it all. It was a fantasy world so far removed from my sorry little existence and it gave me such an adrenalin rush, I felt I was floating on air for days. My favourite acts were the lions, performing in hastily erected cages, the clowns with the funniest one called 'Tickey' and the trapeze artists. We all expected one of them (or both) to drop out of the sky and fall at our feet.
But the one memory that has remained with me all this time, is the elephants parading round the ring (often there were three rings now that I think back). One of them would inevitably end up lifting its tail and peeing in my mother's direction. Oh yes,I forgot to mention, for some reason we always had ring side seats. I would start chortling and get a rude slap across the face, but it was worth it just to witness her astonishment each time it happened. I wonder why he chose her?